superior in its ‘purity’ and power of expression to the others, and that the speakers of this language had become a super-race whose descendants now inhabited Northern Britain, parts of Scandinavia and other Northern European countries.
She wanted to hear Claudia’s own voice propounding this theory and tried to find one of her radio or television broadcasts. She couldn’t locate either. However, by typing the words ‘Claudia McRae’ into YouTube, she came upon something more startling than she had anticipated.
Juliet had located a film – or, to be more accurate, a podcast – of some kind of ceremonial occasion. It began with a grainy picture of several hook-nosed, grave and elderly men sitting at a table on a podium. Then the camera moved jerkily to capture a shot of the audience: row upon row of people seated in a huge auditorium. They appeared to be predominantly male, although the poor quality of the podcast made it difficult to establish this for sure. A few of the faces were framed with long hair, so probably belonged to women.
The men on the podium were speaking in a language that Juliet did not understand, but which she knew from the titles at the beginning of the podcast was Norwegian. They each rose in turn to give a short speech, encouraged by the smiling faces of the others. As each individual concluded his speech and prepared to resume his seat, his fellows led the audience in a booming roar of applause. Finally, the tallest and most distinguished-looking of them – the one who appeared to be the Master of Ceremonies – strode temporarily out of view. When the camera picked him up again, he was standing behind a lectern at the far end of the podium, beaming and clapping his hands, which were held ostentatiously aloft as the whole auditorium erupted once again.
A powerfully-built, untidy woman clambered up the three or four steps of the podium. The Master of Ceremonies ceased clapping and stretched out his hand, which she took in her own and pumped up and down. The Master of Ceremonies said a few more words and returned to his place among the dignitaries.
The stout woman planted herself squarely behind the lectern and adjusted the microphone. She began to speak. Her first few words were delivered in Norwegian. Then she began to speak in English. At first her words, although obviously delivered full-strength to a microphone, were difficult to distinguish, but when Juliet adjusted the sound regulators on the headphones that she was wearing she could hear them more clearly.
Dame Claudia McRae was obviously accepting some kind of honour. However, the speech that she was making was far from gracious. She was happy to receive the award ‘on behalf of the work that she had done, and on behalf of her staunch supporters and like-minded thinkers’, but she warned that others were out to sabotage their work, and that they would need to exercise vigilance at all times. To Juliet, her words sounded paranoid, but they seemed to go down well with the audience. Despite the stern tone of the speech, it was relatively short. When it had ended, the audience rose as one and gave her a standing ovation. The roar of the clapping was deafening. Then the Master of Ceremonies appeared again and presented her with a gold statuette and an envelope. Juliet knew from the snippets that she had gleaned from the speech that she had just heard that the envelope contained a cheque for $100,000 to enable Claudia’s work to be continued.
The camera zoomed in on her at that moment and managed to capture a close-up of her face. Her great age, which had previously been camouflaged by her robust figure and booming voice, suddenly became apparent. Who was going to carry on her work, Juliet wondered? Surely no-one would give so large a donation to a nonagenarian in the belief that she would herself continue to work as an archaeologist in the field.
Almost immediately, she discovered what might have been the answer to her question.
She wanted to hear Claudia’s own voice propounding this theory and tried to find one of her radio or television broadcasts. She couldn’t locate either. However, by typing the words ‘Claudia McRae’ into YouTube, she came upon something more startling than she had anticipated.
Juliet had located a film – or, to be more accurate, a podcast – of some kind of ceremonial occasion. It began with a grainy picture of several hook-nosed, grave and elderly men sitting at a table on a podium. Then the camera moved jerkily to capture a shot of the audience: row upon row of people seated in a huge auditorium. They appeared to be predominantly male, although the poor quality of the podcast made it difficult to establish this for sure. A few of the faces were framed with long hair, so probably belonged to women.
The men on the podium were speaking in a language that Juliet did not understand, but which she knew from the titles at the beginning of the podcast was Norwegian. They each rose in turn to give a short speech, encouraged by the smiling faces of the others. As each individual concluded his speech and prepared to resume his seat, his fellows led the audience in a booming roar of applause. Finally, the tallest and most distinguished-looking of them – the one who appeared to be the Master of Ceremonies – strode temporarily out of view. When the camera picked him up again, he was standing behind a lectern at the far end of the podium, beaming and clapping his hands, which were held ostentatiously aloft as the whole auditorium erupted once again.
A powerfully-built, untidy woman clambered up the three or four steps of the podium. The Master of Ceremonies ceased clapping and stretched out his hand, which she took in her own and pumped up and down. The Master of Ceremonies said a few more words and returned to his place among the dignitaries.
The stout woman planted herself squarely behind the lectern and adjusted the microphone. She began to speak. Her first few words were delivered in Norwegian. Then she began to speak in English. At first her words, although obviously delivered full-strength to a microphone, were difficult to distinguish, but when Juliet adjusted the sound regulators on the headphones that she was wearing she could hear them more clearly.
Dame Claudia McRae was obviously accepting some kind of honour. However, the speech that she was making was far from gracious. She was happy to receive the award ‘on behalf of the work that she had done, and on behalf of her staunch supporters and like-minded thinkers’, but she warned that others were out to sabotage their work, and that they would need to exercise vigilance at all times. To Juliet, her words sounded paranoid, but they seemed to go down well with the audience. Despite the stern tone of the speech, it was relatively short. When it had ended, the audience rose as one and gave her a standing ovation. The roar of the clapping was deafening. Then the Master of Ceremonies appeared again and presented her with a gold statuette and an envelope. Juliet knew from the snippets that she had gleaned from the speech that she had just heard that the envelope contained a cheque for $100,000 to enable Claudia’s work to be continued.
The camera zoomed in on her at that moment and managed to capture a close-up of her face. Her great age, which had previously been camouflaged by her robust figure and booming voice, suddenly became apparent. Who was going to carry on her work, Juliet wondered? Surely no-one would give so large a donation to a nonagenarian in the belief that she would herself continue to work as an archaeologist in the field.
Almost immediately, she discovered what might have been the answer to her question.
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